The Foreboding Sense of Impending Happiness
by kaitaclysmic
Summary: Ville Valo meets a fan named Grace Augustine and their connection is immediate. This is their journey.
1. First Meetings

Holding tightly to the railing in front of me, I struggled to breathe. Ville Valo was standing only feet from me in all his Finnish glory. He had the microphone clenched in his hand and was tapping his heel to the beat that Gas was pounding out on the drums while Linde killed the guitar solo. Migé and Burton had faded quietly into the background while the heavier music slammed against my face and left me squirming in ecstasy. This intense love affair had started years before, when I was a girl of thirteen in my small American hometown.

I remember the first time I heard Ville sing. It had been a quiet, rainy day in maybe April or maybe November. I have no recollection of the month, only the atmosphere. Nowadays, when I look back on that "fateful" day, I only remember feelings and shapes and smells and colors. I don't remember words or sounds. I remember love in the shape of a pale pink circle that smelled of ice. I remember ecstasy in the shape of a green triangle that smelled of rain. I remember distress in the shape of an ever-changing amoeba that had no color or smell at all. I can't tell you if I remember all things this way, or just this particular event. I know for certain that I have never felt such emotion since. This is the story of how I came to love Ville and the music he wrote just for me.

I had never been to a concert before. I was sixteen years old and had never been to a concert before. But, this had been worth the wait. I was _finally _seeing my favorite band live. The air was thick and my heart was racing, I seemed to be sweating from every pore of my body. I was shaking with excitement and was quite sick to my stomach.

I could not have been happier.

An hour later, I stood at the railing between the stage and the audience, hands around it in a death grip and heart nearly bursting out of my chest to flop around obscenely on the stage. Suddenly, the lights dimmed and the fog of anticipation hung heavy in the dark air. The lights flashed on in purple and blue rays and the guitarist and drummer and keyboardist and bassist strutted onstage, I screamed though I could barely hear my own voice. And then, _he _came onstage, wearing a pair of jeans and a blue suede jacket with embossed flowers. I blacked out from excitement.

I don't know how I took pictures of the event or even functioned. When the concert was over, I hurried out to the back of the venue, camera clutched in one hand with magazine and pen in the other. I was the first one to the back of the building, heart bumping hard. And then suddenly, my heart dropped through my feet. He was smiling at me as he came toward me, sweat plastering his dark hair to his forehead.

"Hello, sweetheart. What's your name?" He asked, voice thick with excitement and his Finnish accent.

"Grace Augustine," I said, grinning back at him, the smile on his angelic face was contagious. "You were amazing,"

He laughed, a beautiful, smoky sound that had me shivering with pleasure. "Thank you, Grace. I am so glad you thought so. Is this your first show?" I nodded and he smiled, gesturing to the guard at the gate to move the metal separating us. Soon, the gate shuddered open and he was only feet from me. God, he was huge! He seemed to tower over me, scaring me and exciting me at the same time. "I'm Ville, but of course you know that." I nodded again, struck mute by the closeness of his body. He extended a hand and I took it, shaking it gently but firmly.

"Can you sign this for me?" I asked, breathless as I held out the magazine adorned with his face. Ville nodded and took the pen, still smiling. Girls were starting to surround us, humming with excitement in the presence of this deity on earth. The pen flew across the glossy cover of the magazine and he looked up at me, smiling.

"Would you like a picture as well?" He asked, handing me both the pen and magazine. I nodded, laughing hysterically.

"Yes, please." He took my camera and wrapped one arm around my shoulders. I could smell the sweat and adrenaline and the soap he'd used before the concert. I couldn't breathe! The flash lit up and my smile was genuine. He took two more before pulling away from me, grinning.

"Thank you, Grace, for coming tonight. Here, I have something for you..." Ville gestured to one of the roadies who tossed him a shirt and a small white package. "It's our tour shirt and our newest CD, autographed by everyone. You're a very lucky girl, most would kill for this."

I laughed and took the merchandise with shaky hands. "Thank you, so much." I held the merchandise to my chest, a grin still on my face. "You're amazing, thank you for the pictures and the autographs." I could barely hear my voice over the pounding of my heart. "I'll see you again,"

"I hope so. Have a great night, sweetheart." And with that, I turned and nearly ran the other way.


	2. So Surreal

The next time HIM toured North America, I went to the same venue and stood in the front row, but closer to Ville. I was seventeen now and had filled out considerably, my shirts fit better and my jeans as well. My foot size hadn't changed so I wore the same broken-in Converse that I had worn years before. I was shaking with anticipation. When HIM came on I was transported back to that first concert two years prior. I was jumping up and down, waving as the guys stalked to their instruments. The only thing missing was Ville. Moments later, the crowd erupted into girlish screams as Ville sauntered onstage, wearing an Iggy and the Stooges tee with jeans and a pair of Converse nearly identical to mine. I was right in front of him as he grabbed the microphone and I grinned, letting out a loud yell of happiness. He saw me, grinned, and started singing along with the music the rest of the band was playing.

After the concert was finished, my ears were ringing loudly and my hair was sticking to my neck and forehead in strings soaked with sweat. I couldn't feel my lips or hear myself think. All I remember is going to the back of the venue, grinning when I saw Ville signing autographs. "Ville!" I heard myself shouting, laughing when he looked up at me. A grin lit his face and I hurried to him, breath escaping in a gush as he pulled me into a hug.

"I knew I'd see you. But I had no idea you were going to be front row!" I laughed as he spoke and hugged him back, grinning at the thought of all the fan girls around the two of us, not knowing what was going on.

"I had to be close, I couldn't just let some other girl steal your attention." I couldn't believe I was forming a coherent thought, let alone talking in complete sentences with Ville and joking with him. Next thing I knew, I was being pulled away from the crowd of girls, Ville chattering in my ear.

"How did you like the show? Were we good? Could you understand what I was saying? I wanted to talk to you but I was afraid you'd be mobbed." I could barely separate the words from one another; they were being spoken at the speed of light.

"The show was amazing, you guys were great, and I couldn't understand anything you were saying." I laughed, hoping I had covered everything he'd asked. "Don't talk so fast." I said, wanting to stop walking so we could just look at each other. "Where are you taking me? Are you kidnapping me to take me back to Finland?"

Ville stopped walking suddenly and looked at me, both hands on my shoulders as he bent to look into my eyes. "We are going to stuff you into the baggage compartment and take you with us on the rest of the tour." He saw how my eyes lit up and laughed, shaking his head. "You Americans."

"What? You think I'm American?" I asked, laughing loudly. I pulled away from him, grinning like a fool, eyes watering with the intensity of the laughter wracking my body.

He just watched, one eyebrow raised as the rest of the fans looked on in confusion. "You're not American?"

I shook my head, wiping the tears off my cheeks. "No way. I'm Finnish through and through. My parents are immigrants to the States. You're the first person to call me an American." He smiled and I couldn't help but smile back.

"Well, it seems like you and I have quite a bit in common. Do you speak Finnish?" I shook my head at his question and he sighed, shaking his head as well. "Too bad." I shrugged and he put his arm around my shoulders again, pulling me with him toward the tour bus. "You should meet the rest of the band."

My heart nearly stopped at his words. I had to choke out my next words. "Meet the band?" Ville nodded, shouting in Finnish to someone on the bus. He was asking them if they were decent. A reply was shouted back and he pushed me forward, causing me to stumble up the steps of the bus.

"Migé, Linssi, Gas, Burton, this is Grace." Ville said, grinning at the members of HIM. My eyes were wide and my knees were shaking. This couldn't be real! I couldn't be standing within feet of my favorite band, looking like an idiot in my worn-out jeans and Converse. They all lifted their hands in hello before asking Ville a number of questions about me. He answered each one in turn. "She's seventeen, she's Finnish and she loves us."

I couldn't think straight. I pinched myself over and over again, expecting to wake up. But nothing happened; I was still standing in the middle of a quintet of frenzied Finns who were just coming down from their performance high. "You were splendid." I heard myself saying, eyes wide as saucers. "Much, much better than the last time I saw you." The guys grinned at this and I couldn't help but grin back. "Like a fine wine, as I say. It gets better with age."

Ville slapped me on the back gently at this comment. "She knows how to tickle my heartstrings." I still couldn't believe this was happening. I couldn't believe that I was conscious and on HIM's tour bus…with HIM. I had to take a deep breath to keep myself sane. "Sit down, Grace. I'll get you something to drink. Want a brewsky or a shot?"

I looked up at Ville, eyebrow raising in confusion. "I'm only seventeen, Ville. I can't drink yet." Ville frowned at me, not liking this admission. "Sorry, mate. It's the law Stateside." Ville nodded solemnly and shrugged, going for a beer.

"Well, shit." He popped it open and took a drink, sitting down next to me. "So, Grace, tell us about you."

It went on like that for hours. When HIM's bus finally departed, I wasn't on it, telling Ville that as much as I would love to accompany them to the next stop, I had school and work and I couldn't skip out on them. He had agreed and hugged me once before escorting me to the gate of the backstage area. "Until we meet again," he had said, saluting drunkenly. I had laughed and saluted back, grinning as I turned and hurried across the empty street to where my car was parked.

That night when I got into my small compact car, I had stared at my hands, seeing all the drawings Ville had left on them. Heartagrams, cosmic popes and other strange, indecipherable glyphs adorned my pale skin and I wished that I could keep them there forever, to remind me of the one lucky night I had with Ville. I also had a phone number to call in case I wanted to talk to him. This was a number most girls (and some guys) would kill for. I treasured it and locked it away in my cell phone and wrote it down and shoved it in my wallet so I wouldn't lose it. This was turning into the most surreal moment of my life and I was afraid that it was going to end all too soon.


	3. Pit of Despair

After that concert, I buried myself in school and work, trying to keep myself from dwelling on the past, awesome as it may be. Soon, my life became mundane and routine. I forgot about the ecstasy and the surrealism I had experienced in that concert hall. Two years passed and I graduated high school. I started college but dropped out not too long after starting, accrediting my failure to my inability to commit to anything except music. I painted and I wrote and I drank. I drank a lot. Alcohol was my escape from the mediocrity I told myself my life had become. My parents watched me wither away and become a hermit in my small, filthy apartment not too far from the venue where I'd last seen Ville. I was becoming a cliché. I was the struggling artist, the tortured poet, the alcoholic who woke up in her own vomit on her bathroom floor. I didn't mind. Hell, I didn't even notice.

I couldn't tell you how long I was in that state of nothingness, but one day, I decided to pick up the phone and call Ville. I had always been too afraid to call the number he'd given me, too afraid of rejection or the possibility that it hadn't been real. My shaky fingers dialed the numbers and my weak wrist strained against the weight of the phone as I held it to my ear. What seemed like years passed before someone answered.

"Terve," Someone said and I inhaled slowly.

"Terve, I'm looking for Ville." I spoke hoarsely, heart thundering against my frail ribs. I was afraid it was going to burst out of my chest and kill me right then and there before I had a chance to hear his voice again.

"Is this Grace?" I nearly choked on my own breath as the words were spoken into my ear.

"Yes, this is Grace." I said quietly, heart becoming louder and louder against the quiet fear developing behind my eyes.

"He's been talking nonstop about you. Just one moment." There was a quiet click, which sounded like a gunshot in my frazzled head, followed by what sounded like Chopin drizzling softly in my ear. I switched the phone to the other side of my head and waited, contemplating hanging up. Just as I was about to put the phone down and forget I had ever had the number in the first place, Ville's voice filled my senses.

"Grace?" I bit hard into my bottom lip to keep from crying. "Is that you?"

"Yep, it's me." I said, excitement bubbling over in my otherwise dead chest. "How have you been?"

"I've been great. Even better now that you've called. What took you so long?" I could see his face like he was standing in front of me and I smiled, closing my eyes.

"I got caught up in mediocrity." I put a hand to my forehead and inhaled slowly. "I miss you. When are you coming back?"

"Soon, Grace. I'll get you tickets. Have you heard our new single? I'll send the latest cut of the album to you. I want you to hear it." I couldn't believe the words, yet they were there. They were hanging in front of me like bits of stained glass in a cathedral window. They were beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time.

"I would love that."

The package arrived a few days later. Inside was a note, scrawled quickly and in messy handwriting. It read something along the lines of '_wish I could be with you to hear this. I want to see your reaction._' I was touched and frazzled at the same time. Part of me was still a girl, still shocked by the fact that I was holding a piece of HIM history in my hands, long before anyone else would hear it.

I sat down on the sheet-less bed and put the disc into the player that sat on a shelf just within arms reach. I hit the play button and laid back on the bed, absorbing each piece of the puzzle until it was a complete picture, swelling inside of me. It filled me up and made me feel whole again, made me feel like I wasn't _completely _alone, wasn't _completely _empty inside.

After I finished the album, I listened again and again. Taking in each note, each word with the fervor of a plant absorbing sunlight. I was a flower, finally blooming after a long winter. I was taking in the sunlight and smiling again. I was happy again.

Once I'd finished the album six times over, I called the number I had for Ville. He answered personally and I gushed about the album, hands flying in front of me as I told him how it made me feel. I wanted to see it through his eyes, experience it how he had intended me to. And after discussing it with him for nearly two hours, he told me he wanted me to come to New York to help him and the rest of the band finish the album.

It was a once in a lifetime opportunity that I jumped at the chance to have. And days later, I was on a plane, headed to New York City to help finish the album that had pulled me out of my pit of despair.


	4. New York

When I got off the plane in New York, I was nervous, sick to my stomach from the withdrawals and experiencing major jet-lag. Ville met me at the gate, a grin on his face.

"It's so good to see you!" He said, wrapping his arms around me. He held me tightly, like I was his lifeline in a sea of turmoil and doubt. Ville _was_ my lifeline and I held onto him just as tight.

"You, too, Ville." I whispered, tears in my eyes. "Thank you for this. I can't believe I'm here."

Ville pulled away, smiling at me with a soft, quiet expression on his face. "I can't believe it either. I don't know what it is about you, but I adore you. I love being around you." I smiled brightly at him and he patted my back. "Come now, we'll go see Mizee and Linssi." I nodded and followed after him, ignoring the looks we got as we passed through the airport. Ville wasn't yet famous in New York, but he was known. And those who knew him, obviously disapproved of me. I didn't care. Ville approved, and that was all I needed. We strolled through the airport, hand in hand, hearts seemingly beating as one. I couldn't breathe correctly. My previous self was taking over and I was starting to appreciate the fact that I was holding hands with Ville Valo and being towed through the airport by him. He was on a mission. A mission I was included in.

A warm feeling passed through me and I inhaled slowly, eyes closing momentarily. This was heaven, I was complete again. I took a deep breath, laughing quietly as I let it out. Life could not get better. Once we made it into the grey light of early morning in New York City, Ville hailed a cab, cursing when one sped past us. My eyes scanned the horizon, thirsty for the new sights of New York. I was in shock at the gritty landscape but my mouth hung open in a smile, labeling me as a tourist to anyone who passed. When Ville finally managed to stop a cab, I was already planning what sites I would see while in New York. Surely I would have time to see the Empire State Building…and Macy's? And Coney Island? Ville tugged at my hand, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Ready?" He asked, lips half-lifted in a smile. I nodded and followed him into the cab, aching for a drink. It had been twelve hours since my last drink. I was breaking into a cold sweat as I sat next to Ville and watched the world swish by like a movie. "You all right?"

I looked to him, licking my lips. "Yeah, fine. Just…nervous." That was the best way I could think of to describe my current situation. "I'll be okay once I get to my hotel room." I looked away from him again, reaching for his hand. I laced our fingers and lifted his hand to my lips, kissing it gently before resting my cheek against his knuckles. A few moments later, his thumb brushed my cheek.

"What's wrong, Grace?" He turned my face to his and I smiled at him.

"Nothing's wrong. Just feeling bold." He laughed and I squeezed his hand. "I'm great, Ville." I let go of his hand a moment later, pushing my hair out of my face. "Can we make a stop? I want to take a shower." Ville nodded and I patted his hand. "Thank you."

I was to be in the room just down from Ville's at the W Hotel in the city. Once we slid out of the yellow taxi, Ville led me upstairs, hand on the small of my back the entire time. I had shivers running through my body from the intensity of the withdrawals. I held tightly to the bag I carried, knuckles white on the straps. He didn't seem to notice my uneasiness, thank God. It would have been very awkward to try and explain my condition. I hurried into the room once he unlocked the door, tossing my bag on the bed and rushing to the bathroom. I slammed the door and made it to the toilet just in time.

When I finished throwing up, I was shaking so violently that I was afraid I was going to chip one of my teeth. I washed my face and got into the shower, the tremors subsiding as the warm water sluiced over my goose bump-riddled skin. When I emerged from the bathroom, Ville was sitting on the bed, watching TV and drinking a beer. I thanked God for small miracles and slid onto the bed next to him, taking the beer gently from his hand. I didn't care that I was sitting next to him in only a towel, I just needed a drink, even if it was weak. I took a gulp and closed my eyes, happy that my shaking wasn't so bad anymore.

"Thank you." I said before sliding off the bed again. Ville watched me for a moment before speaking.

"You're welcome, sweetheart. How was your shower?" His eyes were burning into me and I was afraid to look over my shoulder. I felt rather than heard him get off the bed and move behind me, standing only feet away. "You look pale, Grace."

Now I did look over my shoulder, bottom lip caught between my teeth for a moment before I looked up to meet his eyes. "Flying makes me nervous." I whispered, hands tightening on the towel tucked between my breasts. Our eyes stayed locked for what seemed a very long time before I looked away, rummaging through the bag I'd brought with me to New York.

I could hear him breathing behind me and I was beginning to shake again. Ville Valo was behind me, only inches away from me and I was half naked. I was sure that all I had to do was drop the towel and he would touch me like I'd dreamed of for years. But, I pulled out my clothes and moved away from him, my skin brushing his very lightly as I passed him. When I made it to the bathroom, Ville was still standing in the same place, eyes cast downward and one hand clenched into a fist. I wasn't sure if he was angry or sad. He looked somewhere between the two.

It was an hour or so before I emerged from the bathroom again, long hair straightened and make up carefully applied to hide the dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep. When I came out, I cleared my throat, smiling at Ville. He lifted his head from the magazine he was reading and grinned.

"Good, you're ready. I just got a call from Linssi; they want us to hurry so they can get the album finished and then go to the pub." I was ecstatic to hear that word, pub. I couldn't wait.

"Great. Just let me put my shoes on." I shoved my feet into a pair of worn-out Vans and smiled at him, grabbing my jacket and purse. "I'm ready when you are." I couldn't believe how calm and collected I was. I was jonesing for a drink and in the presence of the lead singer of my favorite band. My heart was continuously thundering in my chest and my breath was rarely stable in Ville's presence. Maybe someday I'd get over the fact that he was a megarockstar and realize he was a human just like me.

I laughed at that. Ville wasn't human. He was a god and I was a mere mortal, one whose luck had changed. I had been granted an audience with the earthly equivalent of Zeus and I was fairing pretty well. If only I could stay in his good graces…

Ville put his hand on my back again, reminding me that I was still in his good graces and causing a shiver to ripple through my body. I could swear I heard him chuckle as we stepped onto the elevator and I blushed a deep crimson. I wished my body would stop doing that.


	5. Explosions

After the mastering of the album, Ville and I along with the rest of the band, made our way down to the nearest bar to begin the partying. Just over two hours into the party, we were joined by a few extra girls who decided I wasn't good enough for them to share Ville with. So, I decided that getting blind drunk would be my mission for the night. I abandoned Ville and his harem and made my way to the long, marble bar that would be my place of worship for the next few hours.

Drink after drink I drowned my mediocrity, humming the tunes I'd heard in the studio hours before. Ville was a master of lyricism and painting a picture with melodies. I had millions of pictures swirling in my head like a huge, swelling mass that was nearly as toxic as the alcohol I was downing like water.

I leaned against the bar, gulping down whiskey sours by the gallon, and watched Ville chat with the group of gothic Barbies who were hanging on his every word. I wanted to be in that harem, wanted to be the one sitting on his lap and feeling his breath tickle my ear as he spoke. I wanted to be the one who grinded against him when I moved, just to tease him. But, I wasn't. I was the alcoholic who was becoming alarmingly bleary-eyed by the second. I asked the bartender for another and he obliged, saying something about it being my last. I didn't care. I was blind drunk and that had been my goal.

Mission accomplished.

I turned around in time to see one of the girls press her strawberry-flavored lips to Ville's. He returned the sloppy, disgusting kiss with fervor, causing me to look away and shake my head. I was not going to throw a fit and act like the scorned girlfriend. I was just a friend. A fan who had the luck to become more than just a fan. I took the whiskey sour from the bartender and sauntered away into a darker part of the bar, away from Ville and his band of sluts.

I sat down next to a man at a table filled with other men. I didn't care that I was drunk and bad at hiding it. I needed a distraction. And this man was my savior.

"Hi, I'm Grace." I said, smiling at him. He smiled back, eyes bright and blue. A blue so blue that it seemed to glint in the dim light.

"I'm Bam," the man said, holding out his hand. I blinked and looked closer. Oh, yep. He was Bam. I made a scoffing noise before standing on wobbling legs. "Where are you going?"

"Away," I said, motioning toward another part of the bar. "Bye," I turned to leave but stumbled, legs giving out. Bam caught me and sat me down on the stool again. "Shit, too many whiskey sours."

Bam laughed and ordered another round for the table. "I'll get you another. What's your name?"

"Grace Augustine. I'm from Washington." I said, eyes half closed. "Ville Valo flew me out here to listen to their new album." I said, grinning now. "It's amazing. Have you heard it?"

"Ville's here?" Bam asked, ignoring my question. He stood halfway up, eyes scanning the bar. And before I knew it, I was being abandoned for Ville. I sighed loudly and let my head fall to the table with a thunk. I didn't care anymore. Being blind drunk softened the blow of abandonment but I knew I would feel it in the morning in more than one way.

After two more whiskey sours, I found Ville chatting with Bam and tugged on his hand. "Can we go? I'm pissed and want to sleep." Ville looked around at the guys who all shrugged. We'd been at the bar for four hours. It was now three in the morning and I could barely stand. Ville nodded, patting Bam's shoulder.

"Let us go, Grace. Sleep is calling our names."

I slept well that night, passed out in my clothes on top of the duvet in my hotel room. I had been surprised that no one had asked for identification at the bar. I didn't look twenty-one—hell, I didn't look twenty—but no questions had been asked and I had been supplied with as much whiskey as I could down. And the next morning, seventy percent of it came back for an encore.

Ville found me in the bathroom, my head in the toilet and my hair stuck to my forehead and neck. I'd stripped my shirt and jeans off and was left in my sorry excuse for panties. He laughed quietly before fetching me a glass of water and three aspirin along with a steaming mug of coffee.

"Thanks," I said, taking the aspirin and water from him. "You can keep the coffee. That shit's gross." I downed the water along with the aspirin and waited a few moments before resting my cheek against my bicep. I kept my eyes on Ville's as he sat on the edge of the bathtub, one leg crossed over the other and elbow resting on his knee. His coffee was held gracefully in his hand by the small loop of a handle. "How do you look so good?" I asked in a mumble, blinking my eyes once to clear my head.

"I'm used to hangovers." Was all he said, taking a sip of coffee. "Now hurry and shower. I want to go to Central Park."

I sat up halfway, arm supporting my weight against the toilet seat. "Why are you nice to me?"

"Full of questions." He sighed and sipped at his coffee before answering. "Because. I like you. Fair enough?" I shook my head and he sighed louder, standing. "I don't know, Grace. I'm still trying to figure that out." He set the coffee on the sink and reached down, offering his hands. "Let me help you up, sweetheart." I let Ville haul me off the ground, then stood in front of him on shaky legs. He smiled at me, hands still holding onto mine. I looked up and met his eyes, heart thundering against my ribs and in my ears. He whispered my name and I lowered my eyes again, turning my face away from his. "Look at me," He whispered, voice thick.

My eyes drifted up to his again and I bit my lip.

"You are a great girl and I adore you. I don't know why I feel like I have to take care of you, make you feel good, but I do. I want to make you happy, Grace. You are an amazing girl." I couldn't believe the words I was hearing. I blinked rapidly, shaking my head. It sounded like a break up speech, and we weren't even together.

"There's a but on the end of that, isn't there?" I asked, shaking from the cold tile against my feet.

"But, I can't be with you." He said, hands still clutching mine like vices.

"Who said I wanted to be with you?" I asked suddenly, tugging my hands from his. "You sure are conceited. Not every fan of yours wants to get in your pants, Ville." I was angry. Angry because I needed a drink, angry because he was breaking up with me, angry because he'd ditched me the night before. I was angry at everyone and everything and I needed out of his presence before I said something else I would regret. I pushed past him, anger fueled by a massive need for Ville and for a drink. He followed me out of the bathroom and to my suitcase, speaking rapidly. I was tuning out his words. I didn't want to hear them, I just wanted to get the hell _out_.

I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed my shoes and left the room, slamming the door in his face. "Don't fucking follow me!" I screamed as I heard the door open. I was shaking and I was trying my hardest not to run to the elevator. I walked at a quick pace, legs carrying me to the elevator in a matter of seconds. I pressed the lobby button seven or eight times, urging the elevator to move faster. I put my shoes on in the elevator, leaning up against one wall as I did. When the lobby doors opened, I rushed to the bar, asking for a whiskey sour with extra whiskey.

I gritted my teeth and tried my best to forget about what I'd said to Ville. I couldn't believe I'd exploded like that. I couldn't believe I'd said those things to him.

He had been spot-on. I wanted to be with him, be the one he held when he went to sleep at night. But I didn't want to admit it. Didn't want to admit I was like every other girl he saw at concerts. All they wanted was his cock. I wanted more than that. I wanted _him. _I wanted his love, his devotion, his heart.

After I downed my whiskey sour, I felt better. My shaking stopped and the cold sweat dissipated. I rested my forehead against my palm and closed my eyes. What had I done?


End file.
